KING AND SOCIALIST
To many persons of the servile or flunkey habit, the idea that a king
should ever comport himself as an ordinary,--or extraordinary,--man,
seems more or less preposterous; while to conceive him as endowed with
dash, spirit, and a love of adventure is judged almost as absurd and
impossible. The only potentate that ever appears, in legendary lore, to
have indulged himself to his heart’s content in the sport of adopting a
disguise and going about unrecognised among his subjects, is the witty
and delightful hero of the ‘Arabian Nights’ Entertainment,’ Caliph
Haroun Alraschid, who, as Tennyson describes him, had
“Deep eyes, laughter-stirred
With merriment of kingly pride;
Sole star of all that place and time,
I saw him in his golden prime.
The good Haroun Alraschid!”
We accept Haroun; and acknowledge him to have been wise in the purport
of his wanderings through the streets of the city,--gaining new
experience with every hour, and studying the needs and complaints of his
people for himself;--but if we should be told of a modern monarch doing
likewise in our own day, we should mount on the stiff hobby-horse of our
ridiculous conventionality, and accuse him of having brought the
dignity of the Throne into contempt. Yet nothing perhaps can be more
contemptible than a monarch who is too surrounded by flunkeyism to be a
Man,--and, on the other hand, nothing could be more beneficial than the
feeling that perhaps a monarch may be so much of a man after all that no
one can be quite certain as to his whereabouts. It would be well if some
rowdy ‘clubs’ could be restrained by the idea that the Sovereign of the
Realm might step in unexpectedly,--or if the ‘slums’ could scarcely be
able to tell when he might not be among their inmates, disguised as one
of them, studying and knowing more in a day than his ministers would
tell him in several years. It is generally admitted that no man is fit
for a profession till he has thoroughly mastered its possibilities,--yet
it is not too much to declare that in the profession of Sovereignty the
few who practise it, have mastered it to so little purpose, that they
are almost entirely blind to the singular advantages which they might
obtain, not only for themselves, but for the entire world, if they chose
to put forth their own individuality, and, instead of wasting their time
on the scheming and self-seeking sections of Society, elected to try
their powers on the working and trade communities of the nation. But
throughout all history, the various careers of kings and emperors
contain instructive lessons of Lost Opportunity. Allowing for the
differences of climate and temperament, it may be taken for granted
that no people of any country are constitutionally able to rise above
a certain height of enthusiasm; and that when the high-water mark is
reached, their enthusiasm cools, and a reaction invariably sets in. For
this cause a monarch should never rely too much on the plaudits of the
mob in a time of conquest, or public festival of jubilation. He should
look upon such acclamation as the mere rising of a wave, which must in
due time sink again,--and if he would know his people thoroughly,
he should study that same shouting mob, not when it is affected by
hysteria, but during its everyday level condition of stubborn and
patient toil. So will he perhaps be able to lay his finger on the sore
places of life, and to find out where the seed of mischief is planted,
before it begins to grow. But he must give an individual interest to
such work; no information must be obtained or given through this person
or that person,--for the old maxim that ‘if you want anything done, do
it yourself’ applies to kings as well as to all other classes of men.
That the old adage had been amply practised by one king at least, was
soon known throughout the capital of the country over which the monarch
here written of held dominion. Somehow, and by some means or other, the
story oozed out bit by bit and in guarded whispers, that the King
had ‘trapped’ Carl Pérousse, as well as several other defaulting
ministers,--and that, strange and incredible as it appeared, he himself
was the very ‘Pasquin Leroy’ whose political polemics had created such
a stir. Once started, the rumour flew;--some disbelieved it;--others
listened, with ears stretched wide, greedy for more detail,--but
presently the scattered threads of gossip became woven into a
consecutive web of certainty so far as one point, at least, was
concerned,--and this was, that the King would personally address his
Parliament during the ensuing week on matters of national safety and
importance. Such an announcement was altogether unprecedented, and
excited the whole country’s attention. Plenty of discussion there was,
as to whether the King had any right to so address the members of the
Government,--and some oracular journals were of the opinion that he
was acting in an ‘unconstitutional manner.’ On the other hand, it
was discovered and proved that there was no actual law forbidding the
Sovereign to speak when any question of urgency appeared to call for his
expressed opinion.
While this affair was being contested and argued, a considerable
sensation was created by the news that the Marquis de Lutera had
suddenly left the country,--ostensibly for his health, which, everyone
was assured, had completely broken down. People shook their heads
ominously, and wondered when the King would give M. Pérousse the task of
forming a new Ministry,--while they watched with deepening interest the
progress of the various Government debates, which were carried on in the
usual way, following the lines laid down by the absent Premier, Marquis
de Lutera. Carl Pérousse, confronted by a thousand difficulties,
maintained his usual equable and audacious attitude, scouting with
scorn the rumour that the Socialist writer, ‘Pasquin Leroy’ was merely
a disguise adopted by the King himself,--and he was as cool and
imperturbable as ever when one morning David Jost succeeded in finding
him at home, and obtaining an audience.
“It was the King!” burst out Jost, as soon as he found himself alone
with his ally; “It was the King himself who wore Lutera’s signet, and
came to me disguised so well that his own father would not have known
him! The King himself, I say! And I told him everything!”
“More fool you!” returned Pérousse quietly; “However, fools generally
have to pay the price of their folly!”
“And knaves!” said Jost furiously; “But there is a power which cannot be
controlled, even by kings or statesmen--and that is--the pen!”
“And do you think you can use the pen?” queried Pérousse indolently;
“Excellent Shylock, you know you cannot! You can pay others to use it
for you! That is all!”
“I can make short work of _you_ at any rate!” said Jost, his little
eyes sparkling with rage; “For I see plainly enough now that even if our
plans had succeeded, you would have left me in the lurch!”
“Of course!” smiled Pérousse; “Are you so simple in the world’s ways as
not to be able to realise that such Jew pressmen as you are only made
for the use of politicians? We drop you, when we have done with you! Go
to London, Jost! Start a paper there! It is the very place for you! Get
a Cardinal to back you up, with funds to be used for the ‘conversion’ of
England! Or give a hundred thousand pounds to a hospital! You can become
naturalised as an Englishman if you like; any country does for a Jew!
And you will be a power of the realm in no time! They manage these sort
of things capitally there!”
“By God!” said Jost; “I could kill you!”
“What for?” demanded Pérousse; “Because you think I am going to be
proved a political fraud? Wait and see! If the King denounces me, I am
prepared to denounce the King!”
Jost stared, then laughed aloud.
“Denounce the King! You are bold! But you make up your sum with the
wrong numerals this time! The King holds the complete list of your
speculations in his hand,--he has got them through the agency of the
Revolutionary Committee, to which your stockbroker’s confidential clerk
belongs! You fool! All your schemes--all your ‘companies’ are known to
him root and branch--and you say you will ‘denounce’ him! If you do, it
will be a real comedy!--the case of a thief denouncing the officer who
has caught him red-handed in the act of thieving!”
With this parting shot, he made a violent exit. Pérousse left alone,
dismissed him, with all other harassments from his mind; for being
entirely without a conscience, he had very little care as to the results
of the King’s reported intentions. He was preparing a brilliant speech,
which he intended to deliver if occasion demanded; and on his own
coolness, mendacity and pluck, he staked his future.
“If I fail,” he said to himself; “I will go to the United States, and
end by becoming President! There are many such plans open to a man of
resources!”
During the ensuing few days there were some extra gaieties at the
Palace,--and the King and Queen were seen daily in public. Everywhere,
they were greeted with frantic outbursts of cheering, and the recent
riotous outbreaks seemed altogether forgotten. The Opera was crowded
nightly, and undeterred by the fear of any fresh manifestations of
popular discontent, their Majesties were again present. This time
the King was the first to lead off the applause that hailed Pequita’s
dancing. And how her little feet flew!--how her eyes sparkled with
rapture--how the dark curls tossed, and the cherry lips smiled! To
her the King remained Pasquin!--a kind of monarch in a fairy tale,
who scattered benefits at a touch, and sunshine with a glance, and who
deserved all the love and loyalty of every subject in the kingdom! But
she had never had any idea of ‘Revolution,’ poor child!--save such a
revolving of chance and circumstance as should enable her father to
live in comfort, without anxiety for his latter days. And perhaps at
the bottom of all political or religious fanaticism we should find an
equally simple root of cause for the effect.
The day at last came when Sergius Thord held his mighty ‘mass meeting,’
convened in the Cathedral square,--all ready for marching orders. No
interference was offered either from soldiery or police; and the people
came pouring up from every quarter of the city in their thousands and
tens of thousands. By noon, the tall lace-like spire of the Cathedral
towered above a vast sea of human heads, which from a distance looked
like swarming bees; and as the bells struck the hour, Thord, mounting
the steps of a monument erected to certain heroes who had long ago
fallen in battle, was greeted with a roar of acclamation like the
thunder of heaven’s own artillery. But even while the multitude still
shouted and cheered, the sight of another figure, which quietly ascended
to the same position, caused a sudden hush,--a gradually deepening
silence of amazement and awe,--and then finally swift recognition.
“The King!” cried a voice.
“Pasquin Leroy!” shouted another, who was answered by yells and shrieks
of derision.
“The King!” was again the cry. And as the vast crowd circled round and
round, its million eyes wonderingly upturned, Sergius Thord suddenly
lifted his cap and waved it:
“Ay! The King!” His voice rang over the heads of the people with a rich
thrill of command. “The King, who here declares himself the friend of
our Cause! The King, who is with us to-day of his own will, at his own
request, by his own choice!--without escort,--unarmed--defenceless! The
King! The King who has resolved to go with us, and demand justice for
his overtaxed and suffering subjects! The King, who is one with us!--who
seeks no greater kingliness than that of being loved and trusted by his
People!”
The surprise of this announcement was so truly overpowering, that for
the moment the mighty mass of men stood inert; then,--as the situation
flashed upon them, such a thunder of cheering broke out as seemed to
make the very earth rock and the houses in the square tremble. The King
himself, standing by Thord, grew pale as he heard it, and his eyes were
suffused with something like tears.
“By Heaven!” he murmured; “The love of this people is worth having!”
“Did you ever doubt it?” queried Thord slowly, eyeing him with a touch
of wonder not unmixed with jealousy; “There is only one power which
keeps a king on his throne--the confidence of the nation! You had nearly
lost that! For though there is nothing so easy to win, there is nothing
so easy to lose!”
“True!” said the monarch, his eyes still resting tenderly on the excited
multitude below him. “I have deserved little at the people’s hands--but
perhaps--when I am gone--” he paused abruptly, then with a smile
added--“Give us our marching orders, Sergius!”
Thord obeyed,--and very soon, under his command, the huge multitude
arranged itself in blocks, or regiments, perfectly organised in
different companies, and entirely prepared to keep order. Dividing into
equal lines they made way quickly and with enthusiasm as they perceived
the King’s charger, which, richly caparisoned, had been brought for his
Majesty at Thord’s own earnest request.
When all was ready, the King sprang into the saddle, and gathering the
reins in one hand, sat for a moment bare-headed, the people
surging round him with repeated outbursts of applause. Without
a weapon,--without a single man of his own household to bear him
company,--without any armed escort,--he remained there enthroned;--the
centre,--not of ‘society,’--but of the People, who gathered round him as
their visible Head, with as much shouting and enthusiasm and worship,
as if he had, in his own person, made the conquest, single-handed, of a
hundred nations! Never, in his most gorgeous apparel,--never, even when
robed and crowned in state, had he looked so noble; never had he seemed
so worthy of the highest honour, reverence and admiration, as now! At
a signal from Thord, who led the way on foot, the thousands of the
city began to march to the House of Government, all gathering round one
principal figure, that of their King. A group of workmen constituted
themselves his body-guard, protecting his proudly-stepping charger from
so much as a stone that might startle it or check its progress, and
thus--liberated from the protection of flunkeys and flatterers,--the
monarch, surrounded by his true subjects advanced together as one Body,
to challenge and overthrow a fraudulent Ministry, whose measures had
been drawn up and passed, not for the good of the country, but for the
financial advantage and protection of themselves.
Never was such a wondrous sight seen, as that almost interminable
procession through the broad thoroughfares of the city, headed by a
Socialist, and centred by a King! No Royal ceremonial, overburdened with
snobbish conventionalities and hypocritical parade, ever presented so
splendid and imposing a sight as that concentrated mass of the actual
people,--the working muscle and sinew of the land’s common weal,
marching in steady and triumphant order,--surging like the billows of
the sea around that brave ship, their Sovereign, cheering him to the
echo, and waving around him the flags of the country, while he,
still bare-headed, rode dauntless in their midst looking every inch a
king!--more kingly indeed than he had ever seemed, and more established
in the affections of his subjects than any living monarch of the time.
So was he brought with ceaseless acclamation to the Government House,
where, as all knew, he purposed denouncing Carl Pérousse;--and thus did
he assert in his own person that a king, supported by a nation, is more
powerful than any government built up by mere party agency!
And even so, at his best and bravest, two women looked upon him and
loved him! One, from the outskirts of the great crowd where, shrouded
close in her veil, she waited tremblingly near the Government buildings,
and saw him alight from his charger, and enter there, amid the wild
shoutings of the populace,--the other, from a high window in the Royal
Palace, where she leaned watching the crowd,--the sunlight catching the
diamonds at her breast and sparkling in her proud cold eyes. And over
the whole city rang the continuous and exultant cry:
“The King! The King!”
And perhaps only one soul, prophetic in instinct, foresaw any terror in
the triumph!--only one voice, low and tremulous and weighted with tears
and prayers, murmured:
“Ah, dear God! Would he were not a King!”